


Gone For Too Long

by synonymsforchocolate



Series: Season Three Bughead Episode Tags [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Reunion, Reunion Sex, bughead - Freeform, episode 3x09 fix-it, quarentine, reunion sex in the blue and gold, the blue and gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonymsforchocolate/pseuds/synonymsforchocolate
Summary: Jughead thinks about his post-quarantine reunion with Betty. A bughead episode tag.





	Gone For Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, guys. This one's a little different. Normally I include both Betty and Jughead's perspective, and this is just Jug's. This is also a lot more smut than I usually write (sorry, not sorry). But the Riverdale writers aren't giving me a lot of bughead content to work with, and frankly I think we could all have used a reunion scene. 
> 
> Feeling pretty disenchanted and frustrated with the ongoing Riverdale plot these days, so maybe I'll move into AU fics, I don't know.

“Just go back to sleep, Jug.”

 

Jughead falls back onto Betty’s pillows, the scream still echoing in his head. Betty’s bed creaks as he flops, but her pillows are soft and her blankets cocooning, and he’s been without a good night’s sleep for too long. He _should_ go back to bed.

 

He _loves_ this bed. It’s by far the biggest bed he’s ever gotten to sleep in regularly, and it’s decadent by his standards. What’s more, it’s got his blonde, leggy, sleuthing partner in crime to share a pillow with.

 

But honestly, he has trouble sleeping fully without Betty these days, and they missed so much time. He can wait for her to come back from dealing with the problem downstairs. He can pull her into his arms like he likes, and then they can fall asleep together. After everything that’s happened, he likes to do everything possible together.

 

So Jughead sits back, waiting for his girlfriend to return, and thinks about how it had been the last time she’d come back to him.

 

 

 

 

 

The quarantine had lasted three weeks.

 

In total, it was a month without seeing Betty. A _month._ Jughead knew he’d done some bad shit in the past year, but he couldn’t believe the universe would deny him Betty for a _month._

 

Okay, not completely. They’d had their phones, they’d been Facetiming almost every night. But he and FP had been on the road, crashing in motels and shelters and the occasional Serpent’s house, whenever his dad managed to get ahold of one of his old contacts. And Betty, she’d been housing the kids from the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, and juggling Alice. So it’d been a little hectic.

 

While they were apart, Betty would send him photos, just simple snapshots of her day—her lotion in the morning, a glimpse of Veronica’s pearls at school, the lights reflecting off glasses at the Whyte Worm. He, in turn, would send running commentary on the people they stayed with. Sometimes they’d come up with little games, to keep each other a part of their lives. His favorite was the Alphabet Game.

 

**A is for always right,** he’d message her.

 

**B is for brooding,** she’d fire back. He’d rolled his eyes and sunken further into his sherpa, as if to prove her point.

 

**C is for comma crazy,** he’d written, to which she’d replied by sending him a selfie of her red editing pen behind her ear.

 

When the quarantine finally ended, he and FP had been crashing at a house in Greendale, a mortuary owned by an eerie blonde family. ( _More like coven,_ Jughead thought.) The minute the townwide ban had been lifted, Betty had texted him.

 

**Check your email**

 

Not one to ignore advice from his better (and brighter) half, Jughead had obliged. There, in an email from The Desk Of Mayor Lodge, was the official announcement: Riverdale no longer had quarantine status. Starting at midnight, they could go home.

 

_Hallelujah._

 

Another text from Betty: **Can you meet me tonight? Midnight?**

 

FP drops him off. It’s weird to be back at school, after all this time, like everything’s normal again. Things hadn’t felt normal since…well, probably since he’d joined the Serpents, and the Black Hood had been terrorizing Betty. That was the funny thing, he supposed—when things in Riverdale were quiet and All-American, he’d longed for a more exciting life. Even scoffed at the town’s crushingly idyllic aura. Now, he’d give anything to be bored again.

 

Jughead chuckles lightly as he gets to the door of the Blue and Gold, because the lock has already been picked. _Bobby pins._

 

Betty’s already there. She’s got her back to him, arms leaning on one of the desks, and she’s wearing jeans and a warm wool sweater and he wants to burrow into her and _live_ there, damnnit. His whole body feels warm, like he’s got a fever that’s _finally_ breaking.

 

He pulls his beanie off, tucking it in his back pocket, and leans against the doorframe, smiling. “I thought print journalism was dead.”

 

Betty whips around, face parting like the Red Sea in a grin, and then she’s _on_ him, coming at him like something with heavy gravity, like a brick through a window. He only gets a half step towards her before she’s in his arms. He picks her up on her toes so that just the tips of her white Keds trail the ground, and she’s laughing, laughing, laughing, and the sound is home. If he squeezes her any tighter, she’ll burst. _He’ll_ burst.

 

“I missed you, Betts,” Jughead says, his voice low and full of lumps.

 

Betty slides back down to the ground and wraps her arms around his torso. There’s fire in both their bellies.

 

She looks up at him with those big green eyes, and her eyebrows knit together. “I missed you so much, Jug,” she whispers.

 

He sighs, tucking her head under his chin so she can bury her face in his neck. “I wasn’t built to be apart from you that long, Betty.”

 

“I know the feeling.”

 

“It feels weird,” Jughead tells her, pulling back. “To be in Riverdale again, and have it be so different. Hiram basically owns the town now. It feels so foreign.”

 

Betty grins. “Well,” she says, pausing for effect. “I happen to be Riverdale High’s most popular peer mentor. I could show you around,” she offers, biting her lip slyly.

 

Jughead catches up to her mood quickly. “Hmm,” he says. “I guess I could use a tour.”

 

Betty puts on her best representative-of-the-school voice. “Well, this is the Blue and Gold, our school newspaper. It’s a great extracurricular for your college apps, but it’s run by these two hotheaded journalists who keep getting caught up in terrible crimes.”

 

Jughead smirks. “I don’t know, Betts,” he says, “I hear the editor-in-chief is hot.”

 

Betty grabs his wrist, bouncing a little, and tugs him to the lefthand wall. “And this,” she tells him, “was the Jason Blossom murder board.”

 

Jughead pretends to frown. “Exactly what kind of town is this, Miss Cooper?”

 

“That’s Serpent Queen to you,” Betty chides. She pulls him over to a set of desks. “Ah, here we are. This is where I talked to Trev about going to Pop’s, and you totally got jealous.”

 

“I most certainly did not.”

 

“You did,” says Betty, but she’s smiling. “And it was adorable.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Jughead laughs. “My turn.” He tugs her down to the wooden floorboards, on the opposite side of the desks, so that they’re sitting face to face. He scoots closer, so he can set a hand on her waist. “Here’s where we sit when we’re investigating.”

 

Betty laughs. “Jug, is that your word for foreplay?”

 

Jughead ignores her. “This is where we sit when we’re looking through old yearbooks, searching for clues.” He thumbs her jawline. She’s staring at him with burger eyes, and Jughead knows that hunger all too well.

 

“And these,” Jughead says quietly, not dropping the pretense one bit and simultaneously sliding a hand into the waistband of her jeans. “These are Betty’s Cooper’s pants.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes, but her breath catches slightly. “Actually, you’re the only one allowed in here,” she says.

 

Jughead inches closer to her. “My favorite part of town,” he says, then dips in to kiss her.

 

Kissing Betty always stops time. But now, when they’ve been apart so long—longer, even, than their breakup—there is pure need mixed in with the desperation and love. Betty kisses him like she is casting a fishing line and hooking something deep in his stomach.

 

“God, Jug,” she whispers, whimpering a little. “Touch me, touch me, touch me.”

 

Jughead pushes on her shoulders, tipping her backward so that her back is on the floor. He settles himself over her, wrapping every part of her body, and kisses her soundly. He’s hard, and he knows she can feel it, and any other time he would had pulled back a little, propped himself up on his forearms, so she didn’t feel like they _had_ to get intimate. But tonight it’s been too long, and he doesn’t have the strength to give her even an inch of space.

 

“You know,” he says, panting a little. “This is kind of a fantasy of mine.”

 

Betty smiles up at him, that smile she does when she’s safe and secure. “Jughead Jones,” she says. “I love you. I missed you. Please, fuck me on the floor of our newspaper office.”

 

Jughead laughs fully then, happier than he’s been in weeks. He sits up and rolls them over in one smooth motion so that she’s in his lap. It’s their absolute favorite position—she’s technically on top, in control the way she likes to be, but they’re still at eye level. Equals.

 

“Betty Cooper,” he says, all serious. “It would be my pleasure.”

 

He kisses her again then, hard and fast, and the tension that has been building since their reunion peaks and bubbles over. Jughead groans as Betty kisses his pulse point. His hands are everywhere, and she’s everywhere, and they are everything.

 

They don’t really bother getting naked. Neither of them have the time for that. Instead Betty lifts her hips, and Jughead helps her get her jeans down to her ankles. She fumbles with the button of his pants, and they come off too.

 

“Jug,” Betty whines as they kiss. “I said touch me.”

 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he teases. “I haven’t forgotten what to do.”

 

Jughead slips one hand down, fingers dancing over her like he’s a piano prodigy. She’s soaked. “You weren’t lying about missing me.”

 

Betty palms him through his boxers. “Mmm, neither were you.”

 

He keeps going. It’s like riding a bike, except no one will every be as fluent in Betty Cooper as he is. His fingers make figure eights over her folds. He uses the other hand to push her sweater up and get under her bra, rubbing a thumb on her nipple. She exhales, and then inhales much faster as he slips a finger into her.

 

“A is for astonishingly beautiful,” Jughead whispers.

 

“B is for,” Betty starts, then gasps as Jughead traces the letter B over her clit. She’s got her eyes scrunched closed, which is how he knows she’s close, and she’s straining, chin reaching toward the sky. “B is for best boyfriend ever.”

 

“You’re biased right now,” Jughead points out. “C is for come on, baby,” he says, pressing his lips to her sweaty forehead. “Come for me, Betts.”

 

She does, going rigid and trembling, the only kind of seizure he ever wants her to have. He works her through it, mumbling sweet things in her ears as she comes down.

 

Betty opens one eye. “You’re talented, Jones.”

 

“Always honing my craft.”

 

“Hm,” she murmurs, reaching down to slip her hand into his boxers. “You do a lot of that while you were gone?”

 

“Not really,” he says cheerfully. “Been waiting for you.”

 

“Worth the wait?” she asks. Her hands are moving up and down now, and it’s his turn to go rigid.

 

“Infinitely.”

 

Betty pauses. She draws up slightly and lifts herself so she’s positioned just right, like lining up a puzzle piece you know is going to fit.

 

“I love you,” she says, and sinks down onto him. They both groan.

 

When they were first doing this, Jughead always went slow, wanting to be extra cautious. Doing this sort of thing with someone had been a little nerve-racking for him, given that it was Betty—who he’d happily give up his mortal soul for. The prospect of being bad at it was worrisome. But Betty, she’d been fearless, and he’d fallen hard for this feeling. Being inside Betty was like coming into the house after being outside in the cold all day, and having someone hand you clothes warm from the drier and a hot cup of cocoa. It was like having a permanent home, and he’d wanted to give her that feeling, too.

 

“This good for you?” he asks, setting the pace steady and the angle sharp. Since summer they’d been exceptionally good at this, and he wanted to keep it that way.

 

“So good,” she says softly. “Keep up the good work.”

 

She increases her movements, going a little faster now, and Jughead begins to see stars. It’s been _a month._ He tries to stall a little, distracting himself by mapping the expanse of her neck and shoulders with wet kisses. But she’s tugging on his hair, and making soft gasping noises, and he’s toast.

 

“Baby…” he whispers.

 

“Shhh,” she says, and then moans as he hits a new spot inside her. “I love you,” she repeats. “Love you, love you, love you.”

 

With a slightly shaky hand he lifts a finger to her chin. “Look at me.”

 

She does. They stare at each other, nodding and murmuring softly, until Jughead groans and buries his face into her hair. They’re both panting.

 

“Best high school reunion ever,” Jughead says after a beat.

 

Betty giggles, but doesn’t make a move to get off him. They sit like that for a while, melted into each other, enjoying the feeling of being one person again.

 

Eventually, there’s some cleanup to do—they pull on their clothes and Betty skips off to the bathroom while Jughead bashfully takes an old dust rag to the floor.

 

When she comes back, she ghosts a hand over his cheek and sighs. “The bags under your eyes have graduated from carry-on to checked luggage, Jug. Have you been sleeping okay?”

 

“Moving around a lot,” he shrugs. “You?”

 

“Not so much without you,” she admits. “Come on,” Betty tells him, and he’s never not gone where she asks. “I know a bed you can use.”

 

They walk to her house. The streets of Riverdale are quiet, but lights are on in houses; they are not the only ones having a reunion tonight. The Coopers, however, is dark.

 

Betty points to the ladder by the side of the house, and suddenly it’s deja vu. They climb into her window, careful not to wake the kids from the Sisters sleeping below.

 

She stops at the foot of her bed. The moonlight is splayed across her back, in true Riverdale noir. She looks like she’s made of it. The breeze from the window catches on her hair. When she turns around, he’s inches from her. They stand face to face, but it doesn’t have heat. It’s not a sexual prologue. It’s just them finding magnetic north again.

 

Jughead heaves a sigh, a full body exhale, and tips his nose against her cool forehead. He keeps one hand on her face and the other pressed flat on the small of her back. He reaches up and lets loose her ponytail, coming back with a handful of curls.

 

“Jug, up.” Betty pulls at his arms, guiding him to lift off his shirt. He shimmies out of his jeans, the chain suspenders tinkling as they fall to the ground, while she finds a pair of his boxers in her third dresser drawer.

 

Her bed is heavenly. He wraps himself up in her pink comforter, and she wraps herself up in him.

 

“Goodnight,” he says softly.

 

“Night, Juggie,” she whispers sleepily. “Welcome home.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Betty doesn’t come back for at least ten minutes. Jughead relives their reunion in his head until he’s too keyed up to even think of sleeping.

 

At the moment, with Hal gone and Alice off the deep end, Jughead knows he and Betty are the most stable relationship in the house. Possibly in Riverdale at the moment. Her room really feels like _their_ master bedroom. And in a twisted sort of way, it’s like the kids in the living room are theirs.

 

In a way, he and Betty _are_ parents. They’re the parents of Riverdale. Always have been. Even when all this started, when Clifford Blossom was running around bugging Fred about SoDale and Mayor McCoy was ignoring their investigation, they were the responsible ones. They fixed the town, however temporarily. Sometimes Jughead feels like Riverdale is their bratty, out-of-control teenager.

 

Betty reappears in the doorway, casting a long shadow over the room.

 

“All handled,” she sighs.

 

“You were gone too long,” Jughead pouts.

 

“Yeah, but I bet you kept my spot warm,” Betty says contently, snuggling back in.

 

“Sure did,” Jughead says, starting to drift off. The last thing he thinks as he falls asleep is that if neither of them are ever gone too long again, it would be just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
